Just the Radio (Turn Away To Another Station)
by Lachesis Grimm
Summary: House of Leaves is a beautiful tale of humanity's capacity for childlike wonder. Don't you agree, listeners?


_AN: This was originally posted under my other pen name, olga_theodora, on AO3._

* * *

The weather forecast lied, and that's all there was to it. Never mind that every forecast had agreed, never mind that the equipment on the Bus was the best money could buy- better than, really, seeing as such technology could not yet be bought- and that SHIELD employed a number of people whose doctorate degrees in meteorology were very prestigious and rendered in exceptional calligraphy.

The weather forecast had lied, and Jemma was stuck in a cabin in northern Montana with Skye in the middle of a blizzard while everyone else was swanning around Aspen undercover, and that was that.

"Well," Skye finally said, turning away from the window with a shrug. "It probably won't last very long."

Famous last words.

* * *

The cabin consisted of a lofted living space with a kitchen and a miniscule bathroom, and an attached shed that was piled from floor to ceiling with corded wood. The space was clean, if a trifle dusty, and while the contents of the small pantry were not appetizing they wouldn't starve.

There were no books, nor was there a television, and the one radio tuned only to a show that they listened to briefly and which Skye described as 'Lake Wobegon, but weirder.'

There was definitely not an alien artifact that could turn a cow into a pile of goo.

There _was_ a cardboard box filled with vintage lad mags published in the heydays of the 1970s, which Skye cackled over briefly, but seemed hesitant to touch. "Can I have a pair of your science gloves?"

"My what?"

"You know," Skye clarified, "your handy dandy latex gloves, used for the purposes of sciencing, etcetera- unless, of course, you and Fitz have been doing something kinky with them, in which case, I both want to know and don't." She ignored Jemma's scandalized look. "Perhaps you could explain it to me in interpretive dance?"

"I haven't been- _that_- with Fitz," Jemma spluttered.

"'_That_'?" Skye quoted with glee. "Oh my God, is this what you science geeks get up to at science academy in your science sex dungeons?"

There were no words, which was unusual for Jemma, who had been using more than her fair share of words- large, multi-syllabic ones, at that- on a regular basis for the past twenty-odd years.

Sadly, walking away was not an option either, unless she proposed to walk into a closet, or perhaps the raging storm outside.

"Is that why you were one of the cool kids?" Skye persisted with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Were you the Regina George of science high?"

Screw it. Jemma turned abruptly and near ran toward the shed.

"Please tell me you wore science miniskirts and personally victimized everyone you came across!" she heard as she pulled the shed door shut, before she was surrounded by silence. Unheated silence. She felt faintly ridiculous for running in the first place.

The door opened behind her. "So, can we talk about how much it flustered you when you saw AC take off his tie last night?"

Just as Jemma was beginning to think that death by exposure wouldn't be that bad, after all, the power went out.

Because of course.

* * *

The radio, inexplicably, switched on. Both women rushed back into the living room, temporarily distracted by this greater mystery.

The library was about to have the annual sale, they were informed, and attendance was mandatory.

_Dear listeners, we all of course remember the triumph of last year's library sale, the proceeds from which paid for Night Vale Elementary's newest set of encyclopaedias. The set, we are assured by our community's stalwart teaching staff, contains only the latest in scientific theories._

_Carlos, perfect Carlos, whose hair is the platonic ideal of the hair of a scientist, has examined these works of academic wonder and finds them lacking. 'Cecil,' he says, 'there is not a single mention of the First Law of Thermodynamics.'_

_Wonderful Carlos. He is so concerned for the education of our children, listeners._

Jemma examined the radio carefully in the dim light. No battery panel was evident; the plug alone sufficed to power the small machine. This would have been fine and dandy, had there been power in the first place. She brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face, conscious on some level that she had split ends, and maybe Skye had a trick for that.

Skye detached the plug from the wall socket, and they exchanged a glance as the voice of the radio announcer continued to spill into the room with nary a pause.

_Dana sent me a text message this morning, listeners, and I confess myself puzzled by the contents. 'Run,' it says. 'Run into the swirling snow. The walls want to eat you.' A second message came mere seconds later. 'Also, your boots are really cute.'_

_Listeners, though I do own some very cute boots, I am actually wearing sneakers today._

"Well," Skye said after a moment of thought, staring at her own feet. "My boots are pretty cute today."

"I hardly think that the message was directed toward you," Jemma responded, though a quick glance sufficed to convince her of the relative cuteness of Skye's boots, which, indeed, ranked rather high on the scale. Perhaps she had a fever; she felt not at all like herself.

Skye cut her a dry glance. "Jem, we are stuck in a powerless cabin with a possessed radio-"

_You know, listeners, they say our audience keeps growing and growing, but who are 'they', anyway, and shouldn't the Sheriff's Secret Police look into that?_

"-and I don't know about you, but I was absent the day they taught us how to start fires with spit and newspaper in Brownies-"

_And if not the Secret Police, perhaps the Sheriff's Secret Police Cover Band should take a whack at it._

"-so we might actually freeze to death."

"I know how to start a fire," Jemma said quickly, before Skye could start talking again. "We won't freeze."

"Excellent," Skye said with a nod. "That would have been pretty tragic. AC probably would have cried."

_One perfect, solitary tear, listeners._

"See? Cecil totally agrees with me. I love how it's getting all X-Files in here. Do you think an endless hallway will appear out of nowhere? That would be epic."

_And slowly, you descend the spiraling staircase into the dark, into the depths of back-to-school shopping madness, and we all know the beast which lurks below, listeners: the Lisa Frank trapper-keeper._

Montana was rapidly becoming Jemma's least favorite state.

* * *

"Jemma?"

"Yes?" she replied absently, sighing in relief when the doubtlessly protein-enriched magazine pages (which she had, indeed, handled with gloves) caught on fire.

"If you aren't doing all that fun illicit fraternization with Fitz, could I?"

Jemma turned to face Skye, surprised. "You like Fitz?"

"It might be more accurate to say that I would like to do naughty things to him," Skye said honestly. "Though, we would probably have some really cute babies."

_Who doesn't love babies? The librarians at Night Vale Library certainly do, which is why they suggest you bring your bouncing bundles of joy to storytime next Wednesday at ten, and then leave. Go get a pedicure. Maybe you'd like to take in a movie! The library is your alternative to long-term child care._

"Skye, don't you think this show is…"

"Super bizarre? Yeah. Hey, did you see any wheat or wheat by-products in the pantry?"

* * *

Jemma was finding it difficult to sleep. Perhaps she was just too old to sleep on the floor, or perhaps it was how worried she was about the whole situation, but-

_Jemma._

Or it could be that the radio was talking to her.

_Jemma, have you heard the message of Our Lord, the Almighty Glow Cloud?_

She was going to have a whole battery of tests run on herself the next time she was at the Hub.

_The Glow Cloud loves you, Jemma._

"I just wanted to do science," she muttered miserably, and started as Skye rolled over in her sleep.

"All hail the glow cloud," the other girl said. "The invisible corn is running away."

Hated Montana. _Hated_.

* * *

_We all hate Desert Bluffs, right, Skye?_

"They suck," Skye replied in agreement, and Jemma considered hitting her head a few dozen times against the nearest wall. "I hate their stupid shoes."

_Me too. Just this morning I was telling Carlos-_

"Perfect Carlos."

_- splendid Carlos… his hair is wonderful, isn't it?_

"It really is."

"Skye?" Jemma interrupted. "Could you please stop talking to the radio?"

Skye gave her a blank look. "What radio?"

If this turned out to be some kind of team prank, Jemma was going to science them all to death.

* * *

The snow finally stopped falling on the morning of the third day, at which point Jemma dragged Skye outside and pushed her into a snowbank. "I don't want to hear anything more about your bloody glow cloud!" She stomped off toward the car- well, more like waded to the car- shaking her fists futilely in the air.

"But Cecil said-"

"Shove it, Skye! We're obviously having some sort of joint auditory hallucination that I can't quite explain scientifically but _I will find an answer_." Jemma stopped at the side of the car, which was buried in drifts up to the bottom of the windows, and wondered why the hell she had even come outside in the first place.

"Carlos says that the walls of time run thin here," Skye told her seriously, appearing suddenly at her side.

"Does he, now?" Jemma replied through gritted teeth.

Skye nodded. "It has something to do with the tomatoes."

"Of course it does."

"This is the best I've felt in years." Skye packed a firm snowball and tossed it against a nearby tree.

Jemma sighed, suddenly too tired to be angry. "That's nice, dear," she said, steering her teammate back inside. "Why don't you tell me about the tomatoes?"

"The tomatoes are grown with the invisible corn."

_The tomatoes will eat us all, listeners._

"Right, Cecil."

* * *

Day four.

_And now, the weather._

Skye burst into an impromptu drum solo with a pair of pencils on the table-top.

Jemma hated everyone.

* * *

It was day seven before the rest of the team showed up, and Jemma ignored their startled expressions as she sprinted past them to the safety of the Bus, not stopping until she had locked herself into her own small pod.

Blessed silence. For a few seconds anyway, until the pounding on her door made Jemma realize that she probably looked like the crazy one in this scenario (had Skye told them about the glow cloud?).

She flung open her door, where Coulson waited with a concerned expression.

"Sir," she began, feeling the words tumble out of her before she could form them into any logical, rational order, "the radio was operating without power and Skye was talking to it and she's made friends with the Faceless Old Woman and I think either she or I or we both have gone irretrievably insane."

He took her words in with a remarkably straight face, remaining silent for a moment before turning to shout Skye's name down the corridor.

"Sir?" came Skye's reply, all sugar and innocence.

"You're on kitchen duty for the next month," he said firmly. "You obviously have too much time on your hands."

Skye sighed dramatically. "Still, best prank ever, right AC?"

He did not reply.

* * *

The next morning, Skye nodded as she passed Jemma in the hall. "All hail the glow cloud," she said in casual greeting.

Jemma would have her revenge if it killed her.


End file.
